


easy over

by kinpika



Category: DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, The Flash (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Simple life study, day in the life of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A normal, casual day. Or, as normal as it could be, Wally supposes. Not that he was ever going to complain. Days like today were getting fewer and farther between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	easy over

**Author's Note:**

> mixes a lot of canon together but mostly (ideally) happens during early teen titans, pre bludhaven blowing up.

They have a story, one about the old fashioned floor lamp that lives forever in the way of the front door. It takes three tugs of the old brass chain to even give a slightly orange glow, missing at least two glass panels and has a very nice scratch at the base, but it’s charming and theirs. A little battered, a little bruised, and takes a bit to start working again. Theirs. 

If Wally was feeling particularly poetic, he thought it summed up them nicely. Still going good, even after all these years. Needed a bit of rewiring, now and then. Still good. 

Currently, Wally had holed himself up in a little apartment, south of Keystone Proper, just off the river. Nothing _flash_ , simple, two bedrooms technically, although one had been converted into a study of sorts. Cluttered with little trinkets, one part flea market and garage sales and sentimentality, another part just subtlety so souvenirs. A conveniently placed katana in the corner of the lounge room (once belonging to a brother), an old bow and arrow above the desk in the study (an old friend’s). In a drawer are tatters of uniforms, a study of their life through the years, how technology had developed, and so had they.

Shifting, another part of the house. Wally wakes to the hall light turning on — the actual one, not their trusty lamp. Waits a good few seconds, listens. His time, not theirs. Even if he had argued against it, Dick had still installed the security system. Or, Dick had gotten the Robin to do it (whichever one it was at the time, there was so many of them, it was getting hard to keep up). It might have even been Bart’s Robin, Wally didn’t remember. All he knew, was that the system wasn’t Going Off, and he did not need to worry, even if he wanted to.

As the hall light goes off again, Wally feels his eyes droop, just a fraction, just enough. Side of the bed dips, and he can smell smoke, maybe a bit of dirt and blood, if he wanted to concentrate. “Hey,” he mumbles, hands reaching out for the figure, all tall and dark and not-so-brooding. Definitely handsome.

Fingertips brush the skin of Dick’s cheeks, nails catching the mask. Still suited up. “Don’t you have a home to go to?” Wally sighs, as Dick leans over him more, until he’s sinking into the mattress. Getting dirt and soot and blood all over their bedspread. Wally would have words in the morning.

“A very nice home, actually. With a big front door, a full balcony, and a very expensive set of silverware.” Big words, too late at night. “But I like this one better.” That’s better. There’s the man he knows.

“Aw, babe, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Wally can feel the grin on Dick’s face, and knows it probably mimics his own. Grin and stupid for the time of night (morning?), but that was alright. Dick presses light kisses to Wally’s fingertips, and Wally squints, ready to drop off again. 

“Gonna have a shower.”

“‘kay.”

Weight against his forehead, which Wally can associate with lips, is the last thing he really makes out. Dick disappeared, and Wally listens to the pipes groan, not as much as they usually would, but just enough to had him squeeze his eyes shut. He doesn’t quite remember passing out, but he does remember a brief flicker of life back into him, when his hands end up in Dick’s damp hair. There’s a lump on the back of his head, one that his fingers brush over enough to draw a low grunt. “Didja see Alfred?” Wally mumbles, as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of Dick’s neck.

“Mmhmm. Sleep.” Must’ve been cleared, Wally thinks, and shifts until he’s a little more comfortable. Dick moves with him, and it’s been too long since they were like this, he can’t find it in him to argue. In the morning he would say something. 

And morning comes so fast, he’s up first, which isn’t a surprise. Only a few hours after Dick had arrived home, he’s guessing, maybe before eight, but he pries himself from the bed anyway. Warmth follows him, and warmth’s name is Dick Grayson, and he is nothing if not determined. A hand that chases after his own, and Wally moves slowly purposely, squeezing the fingers before leaving the bed entirely. Fishes around the floor for something that resembled pants, be it his or not; Wally listens to Dick’s breathing even out once again, before taking his leave. He had time to do a lot, he realised, when he passes by the clock. 

Flexing his fingers, Wally zips around the room, picking up whatever trash he had left from the night before, just before crashing out on the bed. Amongst the empty pizza boxes, numerous finished bottles of soda and a badly concealed, half-empty bottle of wine, there was a bunch of receipts, a few old photos pulled out of an album Wally would have to recover later, and letters. Old ones, from his early days. Ones he had written to each of his teammates, when he was incredibly young and stupid, and when he thought Roy would never find them years on. Taught him a good lesson about entertaining at their little apartment, that’s for sure, no matter how good it was to see Lian, to mark her growth against the door. Donna had a laugh, at least, and that was the main thing. It had been far too long since he’d seen her smile.

“Morning,” he hears behind him, voice still heavy with sleep. Perhaps it is a bad thing, that Wally is already smiling when he sees Dick, wiping his eyes, feet slapping against the floorboards as he makes his way over to the kitchen. There’s far too many bandages, and he remembers he had a bone to pick over coming all the way to Keystone with a considerable bump on his head. Yet Wally dumps the rubbish in the bin, and wraps his arms firmly around Dick’s waist, chest against his back, and peppers his shoulders with kisses. 

“Morning.”

Dick makes another noise, one that vaguely reminds Wally of a gorilla, maybe. Fingers follow the lines of bandages around his chest, slipping down to the band of his briefs and — oh. “These are mine.”

“Yeah.”

Releasing Dick, and letting him do his shuffle around the kitchen — highly reminiscent of the reanimated deceased — Wally leans back. He was going to pass on the lecture, at least, when Dick stands impatiently in front of the coffee machine. Later, maybe, if he could be bothered. Although Wally had a feeling he would only be repeating what was said to him the previous night. Cup two is under way, and Dick slumps past into the bathroom, door ajar, turning the taps all the way. 

From what Wally could determine, he had enough time to run over to the store for groceries. Dick wouldn’t be remotely human until after his third cup, no matter how much Wally insisted on pulling him off the stuff. But that was fine, as he heard the water start running again, pipes groaning and probably trying to push out as much hot water as it could. Which would have to be an unfortunate amount, as he was sure Dick was trying to outright melt his skin off in there, and he laughs to himself as he’s pulling on his shoes. Kicks the toes against the ground once, twice, and knocks on the bathroom door, getting a face full of steam in the process.

“Going out for a sec!” he shouts, and gets something that sounds like a garbled goodbye in response. That would do. Grabbing his goggles hanging beside the door as he leaves, one hand tugging them over his head, the other locking the door behind him. When they’re settled comfortably on his head, Wally breathes deeply, holds it. Releases slowly. Again. His time now. This was why he liked the early mornings so much — crisp air in his lungs, boyfriend in the shower, the smell of coffee seeping under the front door. Perfection.

When he runs, Wally notes the very blue sky. Sees several clouds of the creamy fluffy variety, shaped like rabbits, running with him. The roses near the library all read and yellow and blowsy. Freeze frames of time, as he shoots around behind the store, no doubt a blur of motion as he tucks his goggles into the pocket of his jacket. It wasn’t warm enough in the day yet for him to look completely odd, walking in with his slightly stained track pants and jacket. Wasn’t the only one, so early in the morning, as he spotted the usual pack of morning-goers, using the store as a stop for their early jog. Wasn’t a totally incorrect assumption for him either, and Wally slows his steps, through the aisles, basket hanging off his arm. Operating at their time, the rest of the world’s time. 

Picked one carton of tofu in aisle three. At the freezer, he selected a bag of frozen gyoza. Grabbed two bags of rice crackers and a tin of green tea, no doubt going to end up being a lost cause to pull Dick off his coffee addiction. Several bags of pasta, enough to garner a concerned look from a fellow shopper, before Wally pulled a face that was just begging for sympathy and said: “carb loading.” An empathetic nod.

Wally considers another basket, or maybe stronger bags, as the cashier rings everything up. One of those times he wishes he had a car, as he’s holding it all under his arms, no, on the floor now. Fixing his goggles, back to his time. Groceries back in a solid grip, and he runs, albeit slower. He can’t afford to trip and crack eggs all over the pavement, even if that would be funny to tell Dick later. Maybe they’d cook in the summer sun, and Wally can see that thought go for miles, as he pulls up to the front door.

Dick must have a sixth sense, as he’s far more human now (that third cup really did a wonder on Boy Wonder), and opening the door. Catching a bag before it falls, and Wally just laughs. Almost like synchronised swimming, they balance the rest to the kitchen, tipping the contents onto the counter — oops, the eggs.

Zipping around the kitchen, Wally tucks everything away, puts the pan on the stove, brings out the pancake mix. Mixes water, grates some cheese, realises he should’ve bought another lettuce as he salvages whatever’s left. Finally, he stops, slows. “Ah,” he says, as he realises, his time. Whoops.

“Haven’t seen you do that in a while,” Dick comments, and takes over flipping the pancakes. Poorly, but Wally doesn’t comment. They’d at least still taste alright, even if they were in pieces now. The scowl on Dick’s face makes up for it, and Wally simply leans against him, head on shoulder, hands hovering over Dick’s, guiding.

“A while,” Wally echoes. It had been a long time since he’d been unable to stop himself from going at his time in the presence of others. He had always tried to keep it intentional, if he was moving at super speed with a personal crowd. One of the few times he hadn’t picked up on it, he’d been flung into another universe, and he’d rather not repeat that process.

Pancakes done, Wally starts the eggs. Dick has already set himself up on a stool on the other side of the counter, digging into actual food over whatever he’d probably been surviving on the last few days. Reminder, send him home with groceries. If whatever was in Bludhaven didn’t kill Nightwing, the piss poor diet of Dick Grayson would — an unfortunate but realistic fact. No doubt there were several people inside Wayne Manor who couldn’t agree with Wally more, but he knew that Dick wouldn’t help himself even if he tried. Too much to do, too little time. That had him slide his eyes over, watching Dick happily eat. Was he kicking himself over taking a break today, he had to wonder.

Wally inhales whatever food Dick doesn’t, be it the eggs (done over easy), the cheese pancakes (just on the well done side of burnt) or the salad (looking rather deflated on the side). Even eats four crackers with cream cheese and honey, as Dick finds the tape in the study, and Wally watches him undo and redo his bandages. The colour of Dick’s skin is all kind of horrible technicolour, something that even Wally has to wince at. Perks of super speed: never quite having to live with the morning after, thanks to the healing factor. 

If he had to take a guess, it meant Dick was out of commission for a day. Until maybe he could stop wincing every time he had to turn his waist. A dead giveaway at his day job. Wally smiled, when he realised instead of lolling around back home, Dick had made it all the way up to Keystone. He hadn’t really thought about it until then, or hadn’t really chosen to, but it had been a long, _long_ time since they had the day to themselves. Just the two of them.

Maybe Dick gets it, on some spiritual level maybe or just the thought of _wanna fuck_ going through both their minds, because he meets Wally’s eyes then. A slight quirk in his lips, as he sets the medical tape down finally. Patched up and ready to go. Raring to go, as Wally steps around the counter. Would they make it to the bedroom? Dick’s already mumbling something into his mouth, _be careful_. How insulting, Wally was always careful. In less than a blink, Dick is spread out on the bed beneath him, stripped and panting, “I’m going to need another shower,” he’s laughing. Wally laughs too, because, damn, the water bill was always a little higher when Dick came home. Not that it mattered, as Dick is the one vibrating at every touch, and Wally would happily pay five times the amount over if it meant having him groaning at his ear.

Later, in a day or two, Wally would regret not dragging this out. He hadn’t so much as touched Dick’s skin in weeks, the only contact he had given was gloves against gloves. Wally would also kick himself at how he’s come at least twice before Dick is slicking up his own cock, guiding Wally’s hips over him. Dude, it had been so long. Wally is shuddering the entire way down, and he was so glad during all those video calls, he hadn’t followed through with running to Bludhaven for a booty call. Made it so much sweeter, as Dick is huffing and his hair’s in his face, he’s a mess, Wally’s cock slapping his belly as he bounces. 

“Missed you,” Wally mumbles, fumbling for Dick’s hand. Squeezing his fingers and —

They nap, for maybe a bit longer than usual, but Wally doesn’t mind. He’s not the first awake this time, at least. Dick is all movement under his skin, even if he goes without actually realising. Small movements, ones that are so quick, he’d barely notice he was doing them himself. The way when he blinks, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks, how his toes are constantly curling against Wally’s calf, and how his heart keeps pumping along, a constant reminder that he’s still with him, that Wally can _slow down_. Keep on track. Find his centre point, his lightning rod, to hold him steady amidst it all. 

Shower. The other thing on his mind. Let’s Dick manhandle him into at least getting through the door of the bathroom, before they’re over each other again. Dick is commenting about refractory period and Wally has to remind him “um, _speedster_ ”, _fast in everything, remember?_ His ass is mildly tender, and the water is lukewarm, but he’s got his hands around their cocks, stroking them together. Speedster, remember, Dick? He’s sure he watches Dick’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he vibrates his hands just enough, and his legs nearly give out on him. “Missed you,” Dick puffs out, arms around Wally’s neck, squeezing him as he comes. Nice.

Morning tea which really should qualify for early lunch consists of rice cakes with peanut and honey. Another cup of coffee for the monster leaning against the drawers, two sugars, while Wally warms stewed apples. One last rice cake which he didn’t get rid of himself, and Dick looks like the cat that ate the canary as Wally tastes all that sugar in his mouth. Getting a little hyped himself. Can’t stop himself even when Dick nearly tips his cup over both of their feet.

Clothing, optional. At least up until the moment where Dick’s stomach grumbles and Wally drags him to get dressed because it’s a honestly a nice day out. Go for a stroll. They can lay on the couch later, he promises, watching all the old black and white movies they can find while channel surfing to heart’s content. “You’re a terrible person,” Dick whines, lagging a few steps behind. Dragging his feet. Kicked puppy look never quite worked on him.

It’s a creamy banana smoothies at the Lotus Cafe kind of day. Ditto the spicy cauliflower samosas that Wally inhales, and orders some more. Three other plates of something that sound really fucking nice, and Dick just picks from everything available. He’s floating this place on his gut alone, and Dick swipes the _batcard_ through the EFT, making someone’s day.

“Trying to eat me out of my trust fund, are we?”

Oh, there is something he could say there about eating out, and that twinkle in Dick’s eye says he knows it too. Maybe later. “We both know I’m only dating you for your good looks and money, anyway,” Wally comments, take-away bag swinging from his arm for good measure. Enough food for a few more midmorning-late night snacks. 

Dick laughs, slips his sunglasses on. “You’re only good for _one_ thing yourself.”

“Ouch.” Nudging Dick in the shoulder as they walk, Dick just nudges him back. Arm around shoulder, Wally feels Dick’s hand in his back pocket and smiles. This was what he really looked forward to. Saying it out loud might jinx it, as they take a left turn and walk between the park and the river. Hindsight would tell him to expect _something_ to break this moment up, but he rests his head against Dick’s, and waits for it.

“I never actually asked how you made it here.”

“Tim said he was in the area for business. Asked for a lift.”

There it is. “What’s in Keystone that would attract the _younger brother_?”

Dick shrugs, releasing a sigh that said more than it should’ve. “He’s not talking to me much at the moment.”

“That’s…”

“Strange, yeah?”

“A little.” Very. Was something happening? Should they be concerned? “Doesn’t have anything to do with Bart’s sudden change in behaviour?”

At that, he gets a raised brow. “He changed?”

“Trust me, this is kind of noticeable.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“That’s a first.”

Dick snorts, and shoves him in the side. “Rude.” Wally shoves him back, narrowly missing someone going past on their bike, and he doesn’t mean to laugh. But they both do, and make a loop around the park, heading back towards the apartment. Pass by a garage sale on the way back, a little old lady who tells them she’s moving into a nursing home. Dick’s heart literally bleeds all over the pavement, and Wally wants to yell at him that they really didn’t need another armchair or vase. Odd to think Boy Wonder, one of the most displaced persons Wally had ever known, was oddly sentimental. 

Singing at the top of his lungs as their climbing up the stairs, Wally drops the chair at least twice before it’s not as funny for Dick anymore. Still hilarious for him, as he does it once more at the door. Cuts off a particularly spectacular rendition of _I need a hero!_ and Dick swears enough to attract the neighbours attention. 

“You’re the worst,” he says, as they somehow manage to fit the chair through the door. 

“I know, I know.”

The armchair would need a good clean in the morning, when Wally had time to kill. A day off from being The Flash meant that tomorrow would be another fun-filled day, anyway. For now, at least, they both fall back on the couch, flick the television on, and just lay there. Wally always ran a few degrees warmer, and it really was heating up outside. He had to appreciate that Dick didn’t complain, even with Wally completely spread out over him, fading in and out of sleep. 

Wally didn’t remember falling asleep completely, but when he wakes up, the television is on low, and he’s got an arm hanging off the couch. To his left, he can hear movement in the kitchen, and he yawns, pushing himself up to rest against the arm of the couch. “Getting ready to go?” he calls, tilting his head back just enough to see past the back. From where he sat, Wally could see Dick pottering around the kitchen, looking through cupboards, likely for the bowls again.

“Mmhmm.”

“Want me to leave out a plate for later?”

Dick hums, and Wally loses him behind the island counter. He’ll take it as a ‘yes’. Even if Dick didn’t return for the night, he could still run it over to Bludhaven for lunch the next day. That thought had him wonder if Dick’s fridge was even remotely stocked with something other than milk, especially when Wally sees Dick stick his head in the fridge, emerging with a carton moments later. Another reminder to himself to take groceries with him as well.

“You need to buy another litre.”

Unable to fight the smile at that, Wally hauls himself to his feet, padding over to the kitchen. For all intentions of getting ready, Dick was certainly taking his time, making himself comfortable on the counter. With a raised brow, Wally noted that his suit had slipped just a tad lower, where the arms had been tied at Dick’s waist now loose. Settling between Dick’s legs, Wally rests his weight on his hands either side of Dick’s thighs. Thumbed the material. 

Lowering himself, Wally mouths his way down Dick’s chest. New bandages. Need to buy new ones tomorrow. _Tomorrow_ , as he can feel Dick’s knee twitch under his hand. Diverting his attention back to the growing bulge, something he could actually attribute to the lack of a cup and actual attraction. As Wally mouths Dick through his suit, he slips his fingers around whatever was held up over his hips. Drags it down. Dick raises his hips just enough to not pull the suit off all the way, but his cock is free and comfortably in Wally’s mouth.

The angle his neck was at was a little too awkward for him, but Dick made a squawk, hands in Wally’s hair. Worth it, to feel him shudder around him, and know that he still had it. Wally could still remember the first time he gave head, and how Dick had cracked up from laughter at how hard he had tried. They had come a long way since then, especially since Dick was curling over him, practically hovering above the counter. Still got it.

Until. _Until_. Wally’s eyebrow twitches, as he can _feel_ the shift in the air around him before it appears in their kitchen. Sensitivity of the speed force being used wasn’t always part of the deal, but it was when someone wasn’t going to simply knock on their front door, but vibrate his way into their apartment. There were at least three other people Wally was willing to take a swing at regarding this, and snaps his head from where the disturbance originated from. 

“Bart.” Fuck.

“Whoa!”

Had it been anyone else, he may have been able to be a bit more discreet, a bit _faster_ , at tucking Dick away. But Bart operated on his time, not others, and Wally was at least grateful the kid had the right idea to turn around. Both of them were red to the roots of their hair, and that was an achievement alone. Dick is the only one who seems to act, however, zipping his suit up a little higher up his waist and brushing past Bart. Disappearing into their bedroom and, well, they both royally fucked up didn’t they?

Slipping into his time was easy then, and Bart seems to catch on. Wally doesn’t feel a need to talk, as he steps closer to Bart and just _looks at him_. Not that he expected the Kid to catch on anytime soon. He had hoped working with the Teen Titans would’ve taught Bart some social graces, but clearly that was expecting too much. Bart steps back, and he’s distracted, zipping around the room. Or maybe he was creating a distraction, as he gave the bedroom door a wide berth, almost like he half expected Dick to emerge and rip him a new one.

Bart really liked their apartment, something Wally really knew. Each time he visited, something new had moved in too, like the old armchair, haphazardly shoved in a corner and covered in a white lace tablecloth. Never would he have guessed that The Flash lived in an all messy and creative flat, complete with colourful pictures and books and interesting stuff everywhere. But it took all kinds, and Bart sinks his nails into the belly of a well-loved teddy bear, appropriately named Hartley — a gift from a little girl Wally had saved from a burning building, one of his first rescues as Kid Flash. 

Wally watches on from the other side of the counter, fingers splayed. Content to simply watch his cousin (once removed), whip around the room. Linger by the study, not daring to enter, not just yet, before running back to the television, by the sink, over the damn coffee table. “ _Bart!_ ” he gasps, and he hopes the glass didn’t crack. He could see his head served on a silver platter if that suffered the same fate as the last coffee table had — although those were different circumstances, and who knew wood couldn’t hold up the weight of two full grown men?

“Sorry!” Bart never apologised for simply running around the room. Something happened. Caught him.

From the bedroom, Nightwing emerges. Still not quite looking Bart in the eye, and Wally knows it’s more that streak of Big Brother in him than anything else (he could only imagine what would happen if any of the _Waynes_ had walked in on them). Maybe a touch of embarrassment, that Wally was still trying to bury too. Dick liked his private things private, and they were both still reeling that Bart had come in, no questions asked. But, they would recover, and move on. Possibly upgrade security, and see if there was a way to stop a speedster of Bart’s caliber some other time. But that would for another time, as Wally walks Nightwing to the fire escape outside their window.

“I’m sorry,” Wally starts, because he doesn’t quite know what to say. He’d already apologised a dozen times as Dick had shoved himself the rest of the way into his suit before hiking it to their room to get ready. 

Nightwing kisses him, nice and slow and sleazy. Something that they make up stories about on the internet — Wally would know, he’s been introduced to a few. _Apology accepted,_ and if Dick thinks its funny to tip him back as he’s kissing, Wally would let him think that. Digs his nails into the spots between the shoulder padding, parts with heavy breaths. Definitely like something out of a bad fan story on all those sites kids use these days. There’s another _whoa_ and oops time to go. 

At least he’s grinning, and Wally knows he’s winking behind his mask, especially when he shoots a line to the next rooftop. Wally watches him until he disappears, no doubt to a bat-something, one that probably flies. Robin (was he still Robin?) was the timely one, and Wally could only imagine the nitpicking on the way back to Gotham. But that was a conversation for another day and Wally turns, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

“Would it kill you to text ahead?” he starts.

Bart makes another apologetic look, all pouty lip and downturned eyes, but it doesn’t work. Something must have made him want to run out without remembering the Ground Rules of Wally West’s Apartment: call before entry. And Wally knew it deep down — even if Bart was still unable to decide if he was going to grow into Kid Flash or stay at Impulse, he still respected the rules. Working together had helped them both in that regards.

“I didn’t know _Nightwing_ was going to be here.”

“Surely Tim would’ve told you.”

“How do you — no, of course you would know — doesn’t matter, why would he tell me, we didn’t talk.” A single breath is how it comes out, at least to the normal person. They’re not normal. Bonus.

Slipping into their time, Wally starts to wipe down the counter, keeping an eye on Bart. “I thought you liked talking to Robin.”

Another face, but not apologetic. Put out. One that changes to a scowl, a shrug, a hand raising as if to emphasise something before dropping back to him on a stool, draping himself over the counter. Bart realises something a moment later, that has Wally coughing awkwardly, and sits himself back up. It’s not like it wasn’t _clean,_ and no matter how many fantasies Wally entertained, he wouldn’t do _that_ over somewhere he cooked. 

“I like when he talks to me.” Uncharted territories now. Wally had always had some suspicion that _something_ was going on over there, at the Tower. With a grunt, he realises he should feel incredibly strange that another Kid Flash was somewhat probably definitely interested in another Robin. At least it wasn’t a Bat, and Wally was thankful for small blessings.

Yet Bart had decided that enough was enough, and resumed running around to inspect the various things in their lounge. Hovering at the door to the study, and Wally is somewhat tempted to let him in, even if that was another level of personal he wasn’t yet willing to let Bart into. Not until he got to the bottom of ‘was he going to have to give _the talk_ about birds and their trouble with feelings’.

“Wanna go out for dinner?” Pump the Kid full of food, that would get him to talk. Wally thinks it will at least. It always worked on him whenever Barry wasn’t sure how to approach him and his ‘angst ridden teenage ass’.

“Aren’t you making something for, um —”

“Nah, I’ll make him dinner later. If they don’t come back to Keystone, I’ll just run it over later.”

“Oh.”

Bart is quiet as they take their usual seats, stage left of the sushi train. Wally slides into his chair, kicking his feet until the heels of his shoes caught on the bar. Quieter than usual, something must have happened. The owner prepared fish behind the refrigerated counter, his knife slicing through saba, and Wally focused on the slick noise, a little too loud over the low background music.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Liar.

“Alright.” 

They eat far too much, and Wally spies Dick’s card which had somehow made it’s way into his wallet, which left him feeling warm and gooey all over. Well, now he definitely had an excuse to run back over to Bludhaven. At least ten different ways to make it up to Dick popped into his head, nine of them probably not polite enough to speak about in present company. One of them though begged for him to swear under his breath about sneaky birds, causing Bart to look several shades of confused. Wally debated telling him that if he pursued Tim Drake in any way, this was the likely outcome in the future.

Walking between the park and the river this late at night was something else. Wally almost wanted someone to jump out and start a fuss, so that Bart would perk up a bit. Not once had Wally considered that Bart would be one to drag his feet, but here he was, at least two steps behind. 

“You gonna tell me now?” Ice-cream. Perfect diversion. Gets Bart a stack of four high, and himself three, before leading him over to a bench that had the best view.

Wally watches as one entire ball of ice-cream disappears, and slips back from the rest of the world to just them. “Bart, answer me.”

With a sigh, Bart stops eating. “I hooked up with him, alright?”

“Hooked up with…? _What_?!” Well, that wasn’t something he expected to hear. Ever. “Bart!”

“What? I told you what _happened_.”

“I didn’t think—”

“That I was capable of it?”

“Yes! Wait, no, that’s not — when you say ‘hook up’ do you just mean making out or—”

Bart’s face gives far too much away, and he can’t believe that two generations of Robins were into casual booty calls in Keystone. Well, at least he knew that Dick and him were a solid, genuine thing. Wally couldn’t say much for Tim, and the rush of protectiveness was almost suffocating. Bart catches his wrist before he goes for his phone. “Please, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I told him how I feel.”

Ah, that kind of nosedive. An absolute free fall that was never quite a part of a speedsters repertoire, but definitely one associated with the bats. Wally watches as Bart seems to tear himself up as he tears into the remainder of his ice-cream, and honestly, he’s not quite sure what to say. Many things were meant to be asked, but why Tim Drake- _Wayne_ would come all the way out to little old Keystone for Bart Allen begged a lot. And Wally was only tacking on that name to really make a point to himself that they had it bad for that lot.

Gently, Wally finds himself asking the big question: “What did he say?”

“His response was picking Nightwing up and running back to Gotham.”

Ouch. Wally doesn’t say that, but he thinks it loud enough to be heard. “Maybe he was just embarrassed.”

“No… it’s just — I know what it is. I’ve studied everything, remember? He’s projecting on me. Maybe a bit of transference, or suspension bridge effect, or just misguided lust.” Bart ignores the way Wally chokes at the casual use of ‘lust’, continuing on. “There’s no way a guy like Tim could just magically fall for someone like _me_.”

Despite having recovered, Wally isn’t sure what to say. Romantic advice had never been his forte, as he spent more of his life watching his friends all fall in and out of love than himself. One of the few times he would admit that, while he joked about it, had never been such a large focus for him. That, and falling for Dick Grayson long before he had realised truly, had shaped him along the way. 

“You’re better than you realise, you know.”

“Now you’re just being nice about it.”

With a snort, Wally stands, offering his hand. “I’m always this nice, but alas, that is largely ignored.”

“Yeah, _okay_.”

At least he manages to pull a smile out of Bart, as they race back to his apartment. Unintentionally, he might add, and totally irresponsibly. He’ll pay for it later, but Bart’s laughing again, which is what he wanted. Take his mind off of romantic woes long enough to get him in the door, and on a stool, grating cheese and grinding pine nuts.

“Do you always make dinner for him?”

“No way. It would all go waste, otherwise.”

“What does he eat then?”

“Cereal.” Wally does not mean to throw the pasta into the pot as hard as he did, but whoops, he’s broken a few strings of fettuccine.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Tim eats a lot of marshmallows.”

“Bad eating habits is a staple of a bat-diet, apparently. And they even have someone like _Alfred_ , wasting away, making all those meals.”

“Whose Alfred?”

“Their butler.”

“They have a _butler?!_ ”

Wally looks up from where he’d been cutting up the fetta, before throwing it into the bowl of lettuce and tomatoes. “You don’t really know much about Tim, do you?”

“I-I know enough.” Bart is slow on mashing in the basil and garlic, the paste not quite there yet. No rush, the pasta still hadn’t made its way to being remotely edible yet. “He’s got this weird sense of humour, and he’s really smart, and he really enjoys making things and—” Cutting himself off, Bart makes a strained noise, before pounding away at what might end up being the pesto, eventually.

“And?”

“I’ve _always_ liked him. He’s always been there.”

“Now he’s not?”

“No, now it’s fucking weird—”

“Language.”

“—and he’s always out with _girls_ and always like ‘uh, Bart, don’t do that’ or ‘uh, Bart, why are you looking at me funny’,” Wally knows he should’ve filmed the imitations of Tim. Dick would’ve got an absolute kick out them. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Wally sets out the fancy blue plates that Dick recovered from a box, one of those times they went hunting through the Wayne Manor attic. Accompanied by a pepper grinder made of green glass, and a round crusty loaf, neatly cut up. Still waiting on the pasta. 

Taking the pesto out of Bart’s hands, before he made a complete mess, Wally doesn’t really know what to say. “Give it twenty-four hours. If he’s anything like Dick, he can’t hold a grudge.”

“You don’t know Tim.”

“You don’t know Dick.”

Bart meets his eye, all angry and puffy and red in the face. And heartbroken, just a little. It’s there, under all the bravado. Must have been a long time coming, for it to ‘blow up’ in Bart’s face as magnificently as it had. That was the thing about new relationships — they could go in any possible direction. “I’m going to text him.”

As Wally strained the pasta, he didn’t bother to tell him not to. Bart wouldn’t have listened, anyway. Too set on getting to the bottom of the problem. If Wally was going to be fair, he actually liked seeing Bart like this, instead of just ignoring his problems and moving on like he used to. It was a good change for the kid who had taken his old uniform, and insisted that he had matured since getting kneecapped. Reading an entire library might’ve actually proven useful, after all. 

“Eat your damn pasta and put your phone aside.” Wally kept his tone light, and ruffles Bart’s hair for good measure. In retaliation, Bart practically inhales the pasta _from the pot_ , as opposed to the bowl set out all nicely for him. Whatever, Wally wouldn’t fight him over it. He was staring too intently at his phone, expecting a response their time, not Tim’s.

“You know, this morning I did not wake up and think I’d be solving romantic problems for my cousin.”

“Your solution was talking to him tomorrow.”

“Still a viable solution.”

“Says you.”

There is that damn foolhardiness that goes hand in hand with the Kid Flash mantle, making it’s way out of Bart. Of course, it had everything to do with the situation, and Wally had to wonder if he was actually antagonising an answer out of Tim. Bart may be an idiot, but he was a brave one, taking on another bird. Wally was sure his own number was running out, but he had stopped counting the days. If Bruce Wayne — the Big Bad Bat — had stopped staring holes in the back of his head, Bart would stop tapping holes into his floor. Whilst his phone doesn’t go off as immediately as Bart would’ve probably liked, he does get a little good night message, accompanied by what Wally can decipher as a ‘talk later’. Good enough. Bart wasn’t kidding about the lack of social graces, however.

“Go to bed.”

“But—”

“Bart. Morning.”

Grumbling is an inherent trait in the Allen family, Wally has learned over the years. But it does not faze him in the slightest, as he shoves an old pairs of pyjamas in Bart’s arms, and ushers him towards the bathroom. Setting up the couch, Wally makes a quick call that _yes_ , _Jay_ , Bart was in his house, _no, Jay_ , nothing had quite burnt down yet, and _yes, Jay_ , he would return the boy as good as new in the morning. 

And Bart said Wally never did anything for him.

When it’s Wally’s turn to disappear into the bathroom for a second, he hears the movement. It was one of those times he wished he had something like x-ray vision, as he can hear the fridge opening and closing, a few cupboards, and the utensil drawer that always stuck about a third of the way out. When he’s out, in his own pyjamas, Wally decides to check on Bart once more. Not that he expected Bart to be completely frivolous and run all the way to Gotham, but it was a possibility (maybe he should text Dick now, just in case).

Instead, he finds that Bart had curled himself up on the armchair, apparently having laid claim to it since it had come home, but that’s fine. He has a story about that armchair now. Despite not having even been in the apartment for twenty-four hours, it’s already helped a relationship along. Work in progress, as Wally thinks he might replace the lace with an actual blanket, maybe a Superman one for some irony. Dick would appreciate that. Bart isn’t quite yet asleep, doing that weird nose rub he always does, and Wally notices his phone flashes a few times. Incoming messages. You are loved, Bart, he thinks, and turns all the lights off as he goes to his own room.

In the morning, he’d call Dick. Make sure he was still alive, let him know he’d drop over around lunch to drop off the leftovers. Bug him with questions over what the current holders of their former mantles were up to, and if he was in on it all along (Dick probably was, the asshole). Maybe, if Dick was still in one piece, they’d at least manage to get to third, before he had to run back to his day job. Nice to plan ahead. Through the wall, Wally can hear whispers, but he doesn’t even attempt to sneak around. Instead, he curls up on Dick’s side of the bed, buries his face in the pillow that still carries slightest hints of Dick’s cologne, and finally falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to write this for ages...


End file.
